


Parable

by galaxysoup



Category: Haroun and the Sea of Stories - Salman Rushdie
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Prequel, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxysoup/pseuds/galaxysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There was once, in the country of Chup, a silent city, the silentest of cities, a city so ruinously silent that it had forgotten its stories...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taabe/gifts).



_Mudra’s mother has a dangerous job. Mudra thinks she must be very brave, because she seems to enjoy it a lot. In fact, Mudra only knows it’s dangerous because when he tells people what she does they all look afraid or stroke his hair and say ‘Poor child,’ in pitying voices._

 _'What’s a librarian?’ Mudra asks._

 _His father’s eyes narrow. 'Nothing you should know about.’_

 _'It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Mudra’s mother says, spine straight, and that’s the other reason Mudra knows she’s brave, because his father is the scariest person he’s ever met. 'I guard stories.’_

 _'From what?’ Mudra asks._

 _His father hisses. His shadow gets big and menacing on the wall behind him. 'Stories are extremely dangerous,’ he says. ' **We** are the ones being protected from **them**. Remember that.’_

 _Mudra nods obediently, and doesn’t understand._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _'This is a book,’ Mudra’s mother explains, her loose dark hair swinging over her shoulder as she sits next to Mudra’s bed. 'It has stories inside.’_

 _Mudra watches it curiously. 'It doesn’t look dangerous.’_

 _'Danger is in the eye of the beholder,’ Mudra’s mother says. Mudra doesn’t know what that means, but it sounds pretty. 'I brought it home because I’d like to read you a story. Would you like to hear one?’_

 _'Yes, please.’_

 _'Mudra, you can never tell your father about this. Or anyone else. Do you promise?’_

 _Mudra shivers, excited. 'Yes. I understand.’_

 _'All right then.’ She opens the book._ 'There once lived a poor tailor, who had a son called Aladdin, a careless, idle boy who would do nothing but play all day long in the streets with little idle boys like himself...’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra has trouble concentrating the next day. Words and phrases keep running through his head – passages from the book, passages he’s made up for himself. It feels_ like flying, like electrocution, like there’s something welling up inside him that can never be stoppered. _His shadow turns into dragons and knights and sultans beside him as he walks home from school._

 _'Can we read the story again?’ Mudra begs as soon as it’s bedtime._

 _His mother smiles, pleased. 'Would you like to do this every night?’_

 _Mudra feels_ elated, ecstatic, exultant. _'Yes, please. A thousand and one times.’_

 _Mudra’s mother kisses him on the forehead, her long dark hair sliding silkily across his hand. 'All right, then. I did happen to bring another one home with me, just in case.’_

 __'Hear and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, O my Best Beloved, when the Tame animals were wild...’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _'Mudra, pass the rice,’ Mudra’s father says._

 __'Absotively posolutely,’ _Mudra says cheerfully._ 'It would be my pleasure, coming at you, no problem!’ __

 _Mudra knows as soon as he says it that it was a terrible error. His father’s face goes dark and his mother’s goes white._

 _'Where did you hear that?’ Mudra’s father demands, glaring at his mother._

 _Oh no, oh no, oh no, Mudra’s brain says, but his body smiles innocently and says 'I made it up. Do you like it?’_

 _Mudra’s parents have a terrible fight. Mudra goes to bed without finishing his dinner. His mother doesn’t come to read him a story._

 __'There was once a boy in the city of Chup,’ _Mudra says softly to his shadow._ 'He had a beautiful secret, a glimmering hidden treasure, given to him by his mother, who was the bravest and most beautiful of mothers...’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra’s father forbids them to speak aloud at the dinner table. He makes them use the gesture language of Abhinaya, which Mudra half-knows already from school but which is very awkward to do when holding a forkful of food._

 _'It’s time you started learning to be a warrior,’ Mudra’s father ‘says’ abruptly after most of the meal has passed without comment._

 _His mother slams her fork down, the clang loud and bright in the heavy silence._ 'He’s just a child!’ __

 _'It’s a family tradition,’ Mudra’s father gestures angrily. 'I am a warrior, as was my father before me and his father before him. And it will keep Mudra safe.’_

 _They glare at each other. The air feels hot and charged, and Mudra wants to shrink down small like his shadow._

 _Mudra’s mother looks away first. 'Fine.’_

 _There are lots of stories with fearsome, noble warriors who slay ravening monsters and rescue dainty princesses. Mudra thinks that could be all right._

Then he looks at his mother’s expression, and is frightened.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra’s mother wakes him in the middle of the night. Her hair has been tied tightly back and her expression is grim. She doesn’t look like his mother._

 _'Is something wrong?’ Mudra asks. Her shadow is watching the door._

 _His mother tries to smile. It doesn’t work very well. 'I’m going to have to go away for a while,’ she says. 'The position of Librarian is being discontinued. I’m being called before the Council.’_

 _Mudra frowns. 'Who’s going to guard the stories?’_

 _His mother’s smile disappears completely. 'The stories are going to be locked away. The Council thinks they’re too dangerous.’ She leans down and puts her hand on Mudra’s face. 'Listen to me carefully, Mudra. This is very important._ Stories can’t be locked away. Stories can’t be contained. Stories are life itself, and as long as there is life there are stories to tell about it. _Do you understand?’_

 _Mudra quivers. 'I’m not sure.’_

 _Mudra’s mother smiles. It still doesn’t look very good._ 'All stories come from the Ocean of the Streams of Stories,’ _she says._ 'And no one can lock up an entire ocean. The stories locked away in Chup are just paper copies, like a painting is a paper copy of a person. The Ocean itself still exists, and therefore so do all its stories. _Does that make more sense?’_

 _'I think so.’_

 _His mother’s smile is more real this time. 'Well, then - how about one last story, to say goodbye to?’_

 _'Okay.’ Mudra takes a deep breath. 'I’m scared.’ It comes out in a rush._

 _'I know. It’s all right to be scared.’ She sits back, and for the first time ever doesn’t open a book but speaks from memory._

 __'There was once, in the country of Alifbay, a sad city, the saddest of cities, a city so ruinously sad that it had forgotten its name...’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra’s mother never comes back._


	2. Prequel

_Mudra becomes a good warrior, and gradually the sidelong glances and hushed whispers that started up after his mother’s disappearance fade away._

 _Mudra becomes an exceptional warrior, and the new Cultmaster himself takes notice. Mudra’s father is very proud._

 __There once was a warrior... _Mudra thinks, and can’t come up with anything to come after it. His life is lived in actions now – the clean sweep of a blade and the nuanced steps of Abhinaya. They have a beauty and skill of their own, and so Mudra tries not to mind that his mother’s words are so hard to grasp._

 _His life does not feel like a story, in any case. Story warriors rescue princesses and defeat monsters. Mudra conducts raids on the Cultmaster’s orders._

 _No one whispers at all when he passes now. Speech is outlawed; no one whispers ever._

 _His father is very proud._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra has developed a tactic for meetings with the Cultmaster. While he’s in the Cultmaster’s presence, he does not think any more than is required for the conversation. Later, when he’s alone, he will allow his thoughts and feelings to flavor his solitary sparring sessions with his shadow, and that has to be enough._

 _It’s only practical. The Cultmaster always has more information than he should, and his spies are everywhere. Mudra knows this – he’s deployed many of them himself._

 _His ability to remain expressionless is put to the test when he is summoned to the Cultmaster’s office._

 _'Mudra, I have called you here to offer you a very special gift,’ the Cultmaster says aloud, and that’s when Mudra notices that the Cultmaster and his shadow are on separate sides of the room, and they’re on separate sides of the room because they’re no longer attached to one another._

 _Bile rises in his throat, and he misses the beginning of the Cultmaster’s speech. Fortunately, his horror seems to come across as awe._

 _' – only offering this knowledge to my most trusted advisors,’ the Cultmaster is saying in his dull, monotonous voice. 'Soon I will be authorizing a very delicate operation in a remote location and it is essential that we can be in two places at once. It will be very helpful to have you and your shadow do the same, Mudra.’_

 _Mudra bows low, gestures stumbling over themselves as he tries to sound appropriately eager. 'Sir, I am honored – thrilled – when will this expedition take place? I must completely re-train.’_

 _The Cultmaster frowns. Mudra does not hope. 'Re-train?’ his shadow says, and Mudra does not think about how impossible that is, and he does not react._

 _'Yes sir,’ Mudra gestures to both of them. 'My fighting style is based on having my shadow do half the work next to me. If I am going to be of any help to you I must re-learn my fighting style.’_

 _'Ah.’ The Cultmaster seems disappointed. 'On second thought, Mudra, perhaps it would be best to teach you this after the operation has been completed. Your enthusiasm is noted – you may go.’_

 _Mudra does not throw up after he leaves the Cultmaster’s office. He does not throw up when he reaches the training grounds, or when he organizes the afternoon raiding party, or when he is alone and getting ready for bed that night. His shadow does not cling to him, but paces alongside at a neutral distance, every step of the way._

 _It is too dangerous. The Cultmaster’s spies are everywhere._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _'Today we will be raiding sector seven,’ Mudra tells his squad._

 _They do not balk, because they are well-trained and they trust him, but the same resolutely blank expression is on every one of their faces. The raids have been increasing lately. Even the most devoted soldiers are starting to look wearied by it._

 _They split up, each taking a house. Mudra makes a note – if this shadow separation technique becomes widespread, he will have to start assigning his soldiers to travel in groups. It may become necessary even earlier - some shadows are starting to become rebellious and may not watch their humans’ backs._

 _Mudra enters his assigned house quietly, startling the old woman at the stove._

 _'Do not be alarmed,’ Mudra tells her. 'This is an inspection only.’_

 _She looks terrified, and her shadow swells protectively behind her. There is nothing obviously amiss in the kitchen, so Mudra opens the door on the other side of the room and looks in._

 _There is a child in a bed, home with a fever from the looks of it. His mother is sitting nearby._

 _She is holding a book. A real book. It’s open._

 _Mudra stares at it. They stare back at him._

 _Quietly, Mudra shuts the bedroom door and goes back out onto the street._

 _'All clear,’ he gestures. 'There’s nothing here. Return to the barracks.’_

 __There once was a warrior... _he thinks._ There once was a man...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra is in the market when he feels a tug on his sleeve. He turns to find the old woman peering up at him._

 _She glances to one side, and then to the other._

 __'Thank you for sparing my daughter,’ _she whispers, and flees._

 _Shock holds Mudra immobile for a moment. He opens his mouth and tries to call the woman back, but all that comes out is a rusty 'Ark, ark.’_

 __There once was a man, _Mudra thinks._ A sad man, the saddest of men, a man so ruinously sad that he had forgotten his voice...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _'Mudra, I’m glad you’ve come,’ the Cultmaster says, and the foreboding that Mudra felt upon being summoned begins to take shape. 'One of our patrols has managed to capture the Guppee Princess Batcheat. Our plans must proceed swiftly now.’_

 _Mudra stares down at the table. There is a map of Chup, extending out into the Twilight Strip and the Ocean of the Streams of Story. There are schematics that seem to show a large ship and an oddly-shaped bathtub plug except – Mudra leans closer – it is much, much too large to be used in a bathtub. It could easily fill an entire swimming pool._

 _'This is the delicate operation in the remote location?’ He guesses._

 _The Cultmaster rubs his hands together in a way that on anyone else would seem gleeful. His shadow is absent. In fact, the room is bustling with weedy, clerkish men who have no shadows. It’s very difficult for Mudra to concentrate._

 _'Yes it is, and it is fortunate that we are so far along,’ he says. 'Mudra, soon we will be able to deal a crippling blow to Gup. Not only will we silence the Princess, we will silence the Ocean of Stories.’_

 _White-hot horror takes root in Mudra’s stomach. 'Is that even possible?’_

 _'Indeed.’ A tiny, self-satisfied smirk crosses the Cultmaster’s face. 'You are a dutiful Chupwala, so I’m certain you’ve never heard the old tale that the Ocean of Stories wells up from a spring at the South Pole? Of course not. Well, we are in the process of plugging that hole. We have already begun poisoning the story streams themselves. Once the hole is plugged, the poison will be able to silence the entire ocean, and our victory will be complete.’_

 _Mudra’s head is spinning. His face cannot possibly be expressionless. 'I am astonished,’ he gestures. 'I had no idea.’_

 _'There was no need to inform you,’ the Cultmaster says offhandedly. 'Until the unexpected capture of the Princess, this operation was being overseen solely by the Science Division. Now that we have the Princess, however, we can expect a retaliation from Gup. Please see to the country’s defenses.’_

 _'Of course.’ Mudra bows and leaves before his face betrays more than he can explain._

 _There’s a soldier waiting for him in the corridor._

 _'Sir, I have a report from the encampment at the Twilight Strip – ‘_

 _Mudra cuts him off. 'Tell me when we reach the barracks.’ The citadel is not safe, and he needs time to think. They’re trying to silence the stories._

 __They’re trying to silence the stories. __

 _Mudra has never been to the Ocean. He’s been near it, but it is forbidden to Chupwalas. There is a Wall built up to block them, although it is in serious disrepair. Back in the dawn of the world the Guppees and the Chupwalas must have both had access to it, because there used to be stories and books in Chup. Mudra’s mother guarded the last of them._

 __There was once, in the country of Chup, a silent city, the silentest of cities, a city so ruinously silent that it had forgotten its stories...

 _They’ve reached the market now, and are almost to the barracks. As they pass through, Mudra can hear tiny, cautious whispers behind and in front of them. The people of the city are tired of silence._

 _The army is tired of silence too, Mudra knows. Instead of breeding obedience the silence has spawned mistrust, but if it comes down to it, if it becomes that desperate, Mudra thinks the army will follow him. Most of the civilians will, too. If it comes to civil war..._

 _Mudra shudders. He must protect the stories, yes, but he must protect his people as well. If he is to make his move, it must be decisive and overwhelming. It also must happen quickly._

Life without stories is only a shadow of life.

 _They enter the packed dirt of the barracks yard. 'Report.’_

 _The soldier salutes. 'Sir. The encampment at the Twilight Strip reports that a stranger was seen at the same time as the Princess was captured. He looked like a Guppee but his clothing was unusual. He was taken by Guppee forces before we could get to him.’_

 __Mudra feels something welling up in him, something he thought had been stoppered long ago. _'He saw the Princess be captured?’_

 _'Yes, sir. He saw our encampment as well.’_

 _'You think he could lead them back to the spot? Through the wall?’_

 _'Yes sir.’_

 _Mudra smiles. He did want immediate, overwhelming force..._ 'Move the encampment. I’ll take over guard duties in the area myself.’

 _The soldier smiles slowly. 'Yes, sir._ Should I see to it that patrols on the road to the Citadel are relocated as well?’

 _'Please do.’_

 __There once was a warrior, _Mudra thinks,_ A silent warrior, from a silent city, who set out to save the very source of stories themselves...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 _Mudra has been sparring with his shadow for quite some time when it comes to his attention that he is being watched from behind the bushes at the edge of the clearing. His shadow rushes on ahead, looming menacingly, with Mudra following close behind._

 _It’s a group of Guppees – two civilians, a general, a page, and a foolish-looking man in fancy armor he suspects is probably the Prince. Mudra breathes a sigh of relief. That many high-ranking officials would never be in enemy territory without a considerable army to back them up._

 _'Thank goodness you’ve come,’ he gestures. 'Look, there’s not much time. My name is Mudra, I’m the second-in-command to the Cultmaster, and he’s planning to silence the Ocean of Stories – ‘_

 _But of course they don’t speak Abhinaya. Why would they?_

 __'Eh? What’s that? What’s the fellow saying? Can’t make out a single word,’ the foolish-looking man says.

 __'What a **poser** , I **swear** ,’ the little page complains, glaring at him. 'Our Bolo. Talking so **big** and **rude** because he thinks it’ll stop us from noticing that he’s **scared** out of his **pants**.’ __

 _Mudra gives the Abhinaya version of a scream of frustration. The Guppees don’t seem to notice._

 __'If, as it is said, people in the Land of Chup hardly talk at all these days, because of the Cultmaster’s decrees, then it’s not surprising that this Warrior has temporarily lost control of his voice,’ the civilian in the blue nightshirt says thoughtfully.

 _Yes. Yes! Mudra focuses his attention on this man. He seems to be the most likely one to be able to comprehend what Mudra’s trying to get across._

 _He tries Abhinaya again, but it still doesn’t work. There’s nothing for it – he’s going to have to get his voice to function somehow. He swallows hard, and focuses desperately._

 __The stories are in danger.

'Mudra,’ he croaks. 'Speak Abhinaya.’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the time of silence and the absence of stories, O Best Beloved, there lived a warrior and his shadow with the power to change everything...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used quotes from several sources here. The stories Mudra’s mother tells are ‘Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp’ from _One Thousand and One Nights_ , ‘The Cat That Walked By Himself’ from Rudyard Kipling’s _Just So Stories_ , and the opening paragraph from Salman Rushdie’s _Haroun and the Sea of Stories_. The Guppee dialogue at the end of the story is also lifted directly from that book (page 129, if anyone’s keeping track).


End file.
